Chance Encounter
by Malvolia
Summary: After Michael hears that Pam and Jim ran into each other at an outlet mall between Stamford and Scranton, he remembers he's never talked to Pam about Jim leaving. COMPLETE. [Set after Initiation.]
1. Outlet Mall Meeting

He looked, stopped, and looked again. "Pam?"

She froze before turning. "Jim?"

"I thought it was you," he said. "What brings you out this way?"

"Jim," she said distractedly, "wow... Hi..." She shook her head slightly, as if remembering he had asked a question. "Um…just doing some early Christmas shopping. Beat the crowds. This is my favorite outlet mall. Or…it's good. But it can get…crowded."

"I hate crowds," he said.

"It's a bit of a drive for you, too, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah, definitely. But, you know, like you said…."

"Good outlet."

"Yep."

She readjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. "I keep forgetting we're not really as far apart as I think we are."

"Me, too," he said, and he smiled. "You look great."

"It's the shirt," she said, with a vague gesture at her upper body.

He eyed the red material as if he'd never seen the color before. "Oh..."

"Everybody loves the shirt," she said, almost apologetically. She pulled at the back hem and the neckline raised. Out of the corners of his eyes he could see at least three women showing at least five times the amount of cleavage she had been only hinting at when her neckline was in its previous position. He bit back a smile.

"Yeah, well, I...I'm sorry, I didn't even notice. I mean, I can see why everybody likes it so much. I just... Yeah, you look great."

An array of emotions crossed her faces in quick succession, and she regained her voice almost as quickly.

"I mean, it was almost embarrassing. About the shirt. People kept…coming…up to the desk…and, uh…." She tugged the back hem a bit more.

"Don't be so sure it's the shirt," he said, his tone casual.

"Well, they never came before."

"They were probably afraid of what I…Roy would do to them." He looked down, slightly flustered, and studied her feet in their black sandals.

"Jim."

He shook his head as he raised it again. "No, look, that was just a slip of the tongue. I'm sorry. You…you made yourself clear, and I respect that."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, that's two of us."

"I…." She looked at a nearby store window. He looked at a point just over her shoulder. She began to turn away, but turned back.

"So…how's Stamford? Good?"

"It's okay. I miss you guys."

"Yeah. We miss you, too."

"But it's a job, you know?" he said. "Things change. People move on."

"Oh," she said. "I guess so."

"So they tell me, anyway," he said quietly.

"Hey…" she began tentatively.

"Oh," he said. "Yeah, you probably have more shopping to do. I don't want to keep you."

Her brow furrowed.

"Listen, good seeing you," he said.

Her lips parted, but no words came.

"See you around," he said, and he took a few steps forward, moving past her, leaving her behind.

"Coffee!" she snapped abruptly.

He looked back at her. "What?"

"Um…I was just thinking…that I was going to get some coffee. If you, uh…. I'm sorry, you have shopping, too, don't you?"

"Actually," he said, "I came here to pick up chicks."

No response.

"Which was a joke."

"Oh. Yeah. Ha," she laughed feebly. "Well, I think you're in the right place. Most of them look too young to be full-fledged chickens."

"They could be spring chickens," he said, picking up on the change in tone.

"That one could be," she said, pointing. "I don't know about _that_ one."

He followed the direction of her gesture. "Actually, I think that one's a spring rooster."

"No!" She studied the approaching figure more carefully. "Wait…you're right! Maybe he's at the mall looking for a haircut."

He laughed. "So. Coffee?"

"Yeah. Coffee."

"Sounds great," he said. "Let's sit by the window. Oh, look at _her_." He pointed.

Her eyes widened. "And the guys at the office liked _this_ shirt."


	2. Coffee

They took a window booth in the corner of the coffee shop.

Pam watched the people passing by. "I can't believe that anyone feels comfortable in that," she said. "How can they?"

Jim watched Pam, smiling. "I don't think 'comfort' is really what they're going for."

"Oh, because guys think that's…"—she paused before continuing in an embarrassed tone—"'sexy,' right?"

Jim looked out the window at the young woman Pam was watching. She was wearing a short skirt, high heels, and a shrug jacket over a tight shirt that revealed two or three inches of midriff.

"It just looks cold to me," he said.

She shook her head in amazement at the woman out the window.

* * *

Jim eyed the camera sheepishly.

"And I wanted to say 'You'd be surprised what a nice sweater set or a button-down shirt can do to some guys,' but…somehow that didn't seem appropriate at the time."

* * *

Their coffee arrived. Pam wrapped her hands around the mug in front of her.

"Cold?" said Jim.

"Just waiting," said Pam.

"For…."

"Just the right time," she said.

"Ah, the Goldilocks moment."

"Exactly. Not too hot…"

"…not too cold. Delicate balance."

"Drinking coffee is more complicated than most people think," she said. "You can't rush a good cup of coffee."

"I've seen that mistake made," he said, shaking his head. "Dire consequences of the tort lawyer kind. 'Warning: Coffee May Be Hot!'"

"My favorite warning," she said, "was on a box of plates. It said, 'These plates are made of glass. If you drop glass, it will break.'"

"Or how about, 'Do not put empty plate into microwave.' Who's making dinner, Peter Pan?"

"I know! It's ridiculous!"

"Glassware for dummies," he said.

"Oh, so I rented _28 Days_," she said. "Finally."

"Check the back of the box first to make sure Sandra Bullock was on the cast list?"

"_Yes_, and I almost didn't rent it at all because I was still having nightmares from _28 Days Later_," she said. "So, it took me a few weeks to get up the courage to try it, but then I just said to myself, 'You're a grown woman! Get over it!' and I plunked the rental fee on the counter and got out of the store before I could change my mind."

"Good for you!"

"Thank you," she said, with a little nod like a bow.

"What did you think?"

"I thought…well, have you seen it?"

"I have to admit I'm not as up on my Sandra Bullock movies as the next guy."

"Okay, well, it's about this woman who's an alcoholic, and what a mess she makes of her life, and then she checks herself into a rehab clinic, which her boyfriend isn't too happy about, and she meets all these people who are also alcoholics, and the movie's about how she realizes life is hard but she can still make good choices."

"Wow, what a summary."

"It wasn't very…."

"No, it's like…I feel like I _saw_ the movie," he said, grinning.

"Shut up," she said, but she was grinning, too.

"You didn't tell me what you thought about it."

"Oh, what, so…so you can make fun of me for that, too?"

"_Never_."

"Uh-huh. Well, forget it, Halpert. You had your chance, and you blew it."

The grin on his face faltered. Her face went blank and she stared into her coffee mug, shifting the position of her hands.

"So," he said in an overly casual voice. "How's everybody back at the Scranton branch?"

"Oh, you know," she said, shifting her hands again. "Dwight abandoning Ryan in a beet field…Michael trying to make organizational changes on a sugar high…. The usual stuff."

"Say hi to everybody for me," he said.

"Sure," she said. She took a sip of coffee and frowned.

"Missed your moment?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I guess so."


	3. Michael Remembers a Promise

"Pam-a-lot!" said Michael. "How was your weekend?"

"Good," said Pam.

"Good, that's good," said Michael. "What'd you do?"

"Painting," said Pam. "Shopping."

"Grocery?"

"Christmas."

"Wow," said Michael. "And I haven't even made my Thanksgiving plans yet."

Pam nodded.

"Well, my hat is off to you," said Michael. "Kudos. When I get my present this year, I will remember how much advance planning you put into it."

Pam shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

"Christmas shopping already," said Michael. "Wow."

"I ran into Jim," Pam said. "He said to say hi."

"Jim?" Michael said, his eyes popping. "Your Jim? My Jim? Our Jim? Or Stamford's Jim now, I guess"—and he made a 'W' with his thumbs and index fingers—"_what_ever…. Jim Halpert?"

Pam made an indefinite head motion, a combination of nodding and shaking her head "no."

Michael stood copying her for a moment before giving up on any further response.

"Good ol' Jim," he said, smiling. "What did good ol' Jim say?"

"'Hi,'" repeated Pam.

"'Hi,'" said Michael, nodding. "Hm. Not much of a way with words, huh?" He laughed. "Kidding! Of course."

Pam said nothing.

Michael slapped his hand on the raised desk by way of farewell and returned to his office.

* * *

"I dropped the ball on that one. Wow. I'm a ball-dropper. There's no other way to say it. Usually I am _not_. No, sir. I am a ball-holder, generally, not a dropper. Or juggler. I mean, I have lots of balls in the air, sometimes, always in motion. It's not like I'm just sitting around holding my….

"Anyway, the point is—a couple weeks ago I told Jim that I'd talk to Pam for him. That was at the sales convention. Which was _not_ the good time I had expected, but you have to expect that sort of thing, you know? So Jim tells me that Pam shot him down. Twice. Ouch. I promised him I would talk to her about it. And Michael Scott keeps his promises. Well, except for that one time when…but almost…almost always.

"I have _not_ talked to her. Yet. At this point I am still not a promise _breaker_, I'm simply a promise _delayer_. I'll get to it. Just gotta think of the perfect thing to say. The one-two punch to bring that girl to her senses and bring Halpert back to the Scranton team. That'll show those sons of…Stamford."

* * *

"What was that?" Karen asked.

"What was what?" Jim responded.

"That full-body shiver thing you just did."

"I dunno," he shrugged. "Cold, I guess."

"Or somebody's walking on your grave," she said, wiggling her fingers. "Oooooooo…."

"I'm not dead yet," he said.

"Not until this afternoon, anyway," she said. She pantomimed shooting him with a sniper rifle.

He rolled his eyes in an amused way and turned back to his desk. "We'll see about that."


	4. The Talk

Michael stuck his head out of his office. "Hey, Pam, could you come in here for a sec?"

"Sure," she replied.

As she entered, Michael gestured to a chair in front of his desk. "Have a seat." She began to lower herself into the chair. "Wait, no," said Michael. She paused, halfway seated. "Get the door," he said. "Close the door, _then_ have a seat."

Warily, Pam complied.

Michael steepled his fingers, leaned them against his chin, and heaved a big sigh.

Pam waited.

"Could you order me some more of those pens? The ballpoint, not the gel ones…those gel ones bleed right through paper. _Low quality_ paper, mostly," he corrected himself. "But I think the last batch of the pens…those gel ones…they, uh, they were probably faulty, because it bled right through some of our very own_ high _quality product and I had to reprint a whole contract."

"Uh-huh," said Pam.

"Thanks," he said.

There was a long pause.

"Is that all?" asked Pam.

"No," said Michael. "No, that is not all."

Pam waited.

"Pam," said Michael, with another huge sigh. "Oh, Pam, what are we going to do?"

"Is this still about the pens?"

"No, it is not."

"Then…."

"This is about Jim Halpert."

Pam froze.

"As you know, Jim and I were pretty close. _Are _pretty close. When he hurts, I hurt. We—and I'm using the office we—are not just hurting financially by losing a salesman like Jim, we are hurting, may I say, emotionally. Am I right?"

"I…uh…."

"You two used to talk all the time."

She caught herself looking towards the door and shrugged in response to his statement.

"What"—Michael copied the shrug—"what's that?"

"Um…what's…."

"What? The shrug, what was that little shrug thing?" Michael's shoulders convulsed in a quick series of shrugs.

Pam stared blankly.

"It was a simple statement. 'You two used to talk all the time.' It really didn't need any response from you at all, actually. 'You two used to talk all the time.' What, you thought maybe nobody noticed? Like maybe I don't see what's going on right under my nose?"

Pam's lips were pressed so tightly together the color was draining.

"Because I see, Pam," said Michael. "I see…everything. Well, not exactly. I mean, I'm not omniscient. But as far as this office goes…I see everything. What would you call that? 'Officient'?"

Pam started to shrug again, but stopped herself.

"The thing is, Pam," said Michael, "I miss Jim. We all miss Jim. How could we not? He was a great worker. And…here's the thing…"—he smiled sympathetically at her—"it's your fault he's gone."

Pam made a little choking noise.

"I just…I just wanted you to think about that," said Michael somberly, leaning forward on his desk. "Give it some serious thought."

Pam sat motionless, staring unseeingly at her hands.

"That's it," said Michael. "You can get back to work now."

Pam looked up at him in confusion. Michael waved his hands at her in a shooing motion. With some effort, she got out of her chair, opened the door, and walked back to her desk.

"And don't forget about those pens!" he called after her.

* * *

He smiled at the camera. "I think that went very well." 


	5. Hanging Up

The phone rang. "Jim Halpert," he answered.

"Hey! Jim!" said the person on the other end of the line.

"Michael?" Jim said hesitantly.

"Got it in one," said Michael.

"What can I do for you?"

"You can pack your things and head on back out to Scranton, that's what you can do for me."

Jim laughed in disbelief. He saw Karen listening in on the conversation and raised his hands in a clueless gesture.

"I can't…I can't just come back," he said, lowering his voice as a look of deep interest came on Karen's face. "You know that."

"Oh-ho-ho, I beg to differ," said Michael. "You certainly can. It'll be fine! I talked to Pam for you."

Jim's eyes widened.

"Hello?" said Michael. "Hello? Jim? You still there?"

"Yeah," he said uncertainly. "Yeah, but I…." He caught Karen's eye and twisted his face into a horrified expression. _"Help," _he mouthed.

She mimed answering the phone and mouthed back, "_Tell him you have another call_."

"I…I've got another call coming in, uh…Michael," said Jim. "Hey, I'll…I'll get back to you…later…when I have, uh…I'd really better get this now. Bye."

He hung up, then swiveled around to face Karen. "Thanks."

"What was _that_ all about?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he said.

* * *

"That was a lie," Jim said to the camera later. "But I wish it weren't."

* * *

"Scranton branch sounds screwier all the time," Karen told the camera. "I bet Jim's glad he's out of that nut factory."

* * *

Dwight walked into Michael's office to find him staring at the phone receiver in his hand. The dial tone was sounding.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"He hung up on me," said Michael.

"Who?"

"On me!" repeated Michael.

"Who hung up on you?" asked Dwight.

"Jim," said Michael.

"Jim," said Dwight. His jaw tightened. "Jim _Halpert_?"

"I don't believe it," said Michael.

"If you'll pardon my saying so, sir, I would believe anything of Jim Halpert. Anything at all."

"Wow," said Michael.

"Hang up the phone, sir," said Dwight. "In fact, slam it. Show him that a Dunder Mifflin regional manager is not someone you hang up on."

Michael looked up. "How is that going to show him anything? He's not even on the phone anymore."

"Good point," said Dwight. "Tell you what. Give him a call back."

"Uh-huh…."

"_Then_ slam the phone down."

"I don't know," said Michael.

"I'll do it for you," said Dwight.

Michael shrugged.

* * *

"Dunder Mifflin," Jim said. He jumped and held the phone away from his ear.

"What was that?" Karen asked.

"I have no idea…."

* * *

"I doubt that will teach him his lesson. I doubt anything could teach Jim Halpert any kind of lesson. He has closed himself off to all learning. Still, I would do it again. I'd do it a couple times…if I thought it had any chance of taking. Yes. I would do it again. No problem."

Dwight smiled.

* * *

"That's it," said Jim, dropping the receiver back on the cradle. "I'm not taking any more calls today." 


	6. Not Your Secretary

The phone rang. And rang. And rang.

"Aren't you gonna get that, Big Tuna?" asked Andy.

Jim shook his head.

"Once bitten…" said Karen.

"Or twice, or thrice, or…whatever comes after thrice," said Jim.

"What?" asked Andy.

"Never mind," Jim said.

"I can't stand a ringing phone," Andy said.

"So answer it yourself," said Karen.

"But tell them I went home," said Jim. "It's not my afternoon for phone calls."

"What kind of business do you think we're running here?" said Andy. "Personally, I'm running the kind where you answer the phone before it drives me crazy."

"Listen," said Karen.

The three of them paused, heads tilted attentively.

"No phone," she said.

"Good," said Andy. "But next time, either you answer it or I do."

"You do," said Jim.

"Okay," said Andy. "But if I have to answer your phone, you have to…run all my photocopies and send all my faxes."

"I don't think so," said Jim. "I never asked you to answer my phone. This isn't really a deal we're making, here."

"I could do this all afternoon," said Andy, rocking back and forth in his chair and making it squeak loudly.

"I could sing 'Lovefool,'" said Jim.

"No fair," said Karen. "You know that doesn't bug anybody in the office except for me."

"Squeak your chair all day, I'm not answering my phone," said Jim. "Look, we only have an hour and a half to go."

"And you're thinking your bad phone mojo will be over tomorrow?"

"I certainly hope so."

"Fine," said Andy snippily. "But I'm not gonna be nice to anybody who calls you."

"Even better," said Jim.

--

Jim's phone rang. And rang again. Andy tossed an angry glance over his shoulder, picked up his own phone receiver, and punched a button fiercely. "Jim Halpert's desk," he said.

Jim and Karen both looked up in anticipation.

"No. No, he's not here. Or, _or_, maybe he is here, but he just doesn't want to talk to you," he said.

Karen snickered.

"Voice mail? Let's see, I think he's been mostly ignoring that along with any other job responsibilities he doesn't feel like dealing with right now. Yeah. Yeah. Well, sure, I'll tell him you called. Maybe. Bye." He hung up.

"Who was that?" asked Jim.

"I'm not your secretary," said Andy. "If you cared, you would have answered your phone."

"I guess you have a point," said Jim. "Thanks for..uh…taking care of that for me, then."

--

Pam hung up the phone and sighed. She opened a window for a new email message.

"Jim," she typed, "I hope you don't think I…"

She pressed the backspace key and held it down, erasing everything but his name. Then she resumed typing.

"Michael thinks you left because of me, and I guess I can see that. I hope I haven't…"

She held down the backspace key again.

"I miss you."

Backspace.

"If it's my fault..."

Backspace.

"You can come back, if you want."

She looked at the phone for a long minute, then back at the screen.

She closed the email window.


	7. One on One with the Camera

"Feel that? That's the balance of power shifting. Yesterday I called Jim five times, and I hung up six times. Possibly seven. These are the sorts of things I couldn't do back when he worked here. Because he was at the next desk, so he would have made the connection. But now, with Jim in Stamford, it's anybody's ball game. I intend it to be _my_ ball game."

* * *

"The office dynamic is different, definitely. It's always different…after anyone leaves. Oscar left not too long ago, and that's…that's been a little different. Um, but…but I think that…. It's not like he got fired, so there's none of that…that feeling of, you know…it's like, 'Wow, I'm sorry to see you go, but I'm glad I'm not you.' Jim, I mean. Not Oscar. Although…Oscar didn't get fired either. Anyway, Jim wasn't fired, he was…he was promoted. So he…he had an opportunity…and he took it. And…I'm happy for him. Because those sorts of opportunities don't come around all that often. And he deserves to be…promoted."

* * *

"I can only imagine what Michael said to Pam…. Yeah…actually, I'm doing my best _not_ to imagine. Not that it matters. I mean, she made her decision. It's kind of one of the hazards of a small office, I guess, having everyone know your business, and there are…were generally two people in the Scranton branch who seemed to find things out. One was Pam. She was the receptionist, she could see things people didn't know she saw because they could sometimes forget she was even there. And the other was Michael. He mostly just stumbled over things. I don't know, maybe there were more people in the Scranton branch who were figuring things out, and I only knew Michael and Pam knew things because…well, anything Michael knew, the office knew. That's how he liked it. And Pam…Pam was always…she was…yeah….

"I'm sorry, I don't remember where I was going with that."

* * *

"It's percolating. Up in her head. I can tell by the way she looks at me. She's thinking about what I said, absolutely. Some may say that I was insensitive. The way I put it. Well, I'm gonna be honest with you—the truth hurts. Truth hurts, and there's no way of getting around that. Except maybe with lies. But the way I see it, no lie is going to bring Jim back to Scranton, which is, I think, what everybody wants."

* * *

"All I can say is, he had better answer his own phone tomorrow. Do I look like the receptionist? No, I didn't think so, either. I did not get my degree—from Cornell, no less—to answer calls from Big Tuna's angry ex-girlfriends. I'm assuming it was an ex-girlfriend who was calling all afternoon and hanging up on him, because that would explain why she sounded so apologetic when I talked to her. If I were him, I'd just say, 'Listen, babe, I don't know how you got this number, but it's _over_.' I'd tell him to tell her that, except I already told him he's not getting any of his phone messages from me, and backing down now would set a bad precedent."


	8. Communication Lines

"Hello, Dunder Mifflin," Michael answered his phone. "Scranton branch Regional Manager speaking."

"Hey, Michael."

"Jim!" said Michael loudly. "How are you?" He swiveled to his right, leaned back in his chair, and made eye contact with Pam, whose head had come up abruptly at his greeting. She dropped her eyes back to her computer screen.

"Okay. Um, the reason I'm calling…."

"Hold on a sec, Jim, let me put you on speaker."

"Speaker?"

"Yeah, and now I'm gonna quick open my door so everybody can hear you."

"What? No, Michael, I wanted to…."

"Don't be shy!" said Michael as he returned from opening the door and flopped back into his chair. "Everybody here misses the sound of your voice. Isn't that right?" he called out into office. Nobody answered. "One more second," he said, and he got up again and went to the doorway. "Hey, everybody!" he said. "Let's give a big shout-out to our transferred brother. Everybody say 'Hi, Jim!'"

There was a halfhearted chorus of "Hi, Jims."

"Oh, come on, you can do better than that!" said Michael.

"Michael…" Jim said.

"Kelly, you used to be a cheerleader, right? You seem like the cheerleading type, you have to have been. Come on, start us off."

Kelly yelled, "Hi, Jim!" and the rest of the office followed, louder than before. Dwight's "Hi, Jim" sounded like a threat.

"Did you hear everybody?" Michael asked.

"Yes. Yeah, sure, Michael, now can we…."

"I don't know if you could hear Pam, she's wayyyy over there at her desk," said Michael.

Pam closed her eyes and exhaled sharply.

"Pam!" said Michael. "Get on over here, you! Say hi to Jim!"

Pam got up and walked stiffly over to Michael. He gestured at the doorway.

"Just stick your head in there and belt it out," he said.

"Hi, Jim," she called weakly.

"Hi, Pam," he said. "Michael, let Pam get back to work. I heard her the first time."

"I'll bet you did," he said, giving Pam a broad wink and shooing her back to her desk. He went back to his chair. "How can I help you, Jim? Need your old desk back yet?"

Jim sighed. "Actually, I was…. Do you still have your door open?"

"Yup."

"I was just calling to say hi," Jim said.

"That is so thoughtful of you," said Michael, and he raised his voice again. "You are such a thoughtful person."

"Um, yeah, thanks," said Jim. "Well, I better get back to work."

"So soon?" asked Michael.

"Yeah, there's a lot going on over here," said Jim.

"Well, give us a ring anytime," said Michael. "You might want to call in on the main line next time, though."

"I don't think…."

"Because I'm not chained to this desk. I could always be away from it. You never know. It's…it's probably best if you call in on the main line." He gave the camera a thumbs-up sign.

"Sure, okay," said Jim resignedly.

"Well, I hope to hear from you soon, buddy," said Michael. "We'll keep your desk open for ya."

Ryan cast an uncertain glance at Michael, who wasn't looking at him.

"Thanks," said Jim. "Bye."

Michael hung up the phone and went over to Pam's desk. "Man!" he said to the whole office. "Was that ever nice! That Jim…I don't know how we get along without him…do you?" he asked, turning suddenly to Pam.

"Um…."

"Better than we did _with_ him," muttered Dwight.

* * *

"I called Michael to try to sort of subtly figure out how uncomfortable he made it for Pam. And, uh…I guess I figured it out, just not as subtly as I had hoped to. Kinda want to apologize to her, but kinda feel like that'd be a little pushy, like maybe she'd think it was just an excuse to talk to her.

"I don't want to make things harder for her right now."

* * *

"Yes, that was awkward. And embarrassing. But…I lived. That's good to know. That awkwardness is something you can live through, I mean. Feel like I should have realized that a lot earlier. I _have_ worked here a while. I guess sometimes these things take more time than you'd think. Kind of like when I decided to make Tuesdays office supply order day instead of asking around at random times and then placing the order and just having to put another order in the next day. It took a while to think of that, too, but…now it seems so obvious. So, yeah. It's kind of like that."

* * *

Pam took a deep breath and started typing.

"Hey, Jim.

"I was going to send you this a week or so ago, but I forgot. Sorry. But now, finally, you have it: the report on what Michael does all day. This could possibly be followed by reports on various other members of the office staff—I'm sure you've missed Dwight at least as much as he misses you.

"It's weird to think that you can picture everything I can talk about here—all the faces and all the places (and that was _not_ supposed to rhyme, but I'll leave it in so you can laugh at me), but the only thing I can picture at the Stamford branch is you, and I can't help but imagine you at a desk just like the one you had here. If I were going to mentally illustrate one of your work stories, I would see a nondescript office space, some vague coworkers, a familiar-looking desk, and you, sticking out like a sore thumb because you'd be the only thing in the whole illustration that was clearly defined.

"I can just hear you now: 'You call yourself an artist, Beesly? You can do better than that!' So far, if I try to do better, your desk just starts looking more like your desk here, and the person sitting closest to you starts looking more like Dwight. But I _am_ taking art classes, so we'll see how the mental image progresses.

"Any details you could help me sketch in would be appreciated.

"Pam"

She attached all of the logs on Michael she had typed up for Jan. For the current day, she wrote: "2:45-3:00—Led office in cheer for transferred sales rep. Did his best to publicly humiliate current receptionist, and in so doing made her realize that things could only ever get more awkward anyway, regardless of any actions she may/may not take."

She stared at the empty subject line for a long time. Finally, she typed "Communication Lines Open."

And she sent the message.

* * *

**End of Episode **


End file.
